


you're not the only one

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Kid Fic, Palpatine likes to mess with his apprentice, Parent-Child Relationship, Slavery, Teenagers, clone!Padme, clone!Padme's POV, in inventive and painful ways, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: She is a gift to Lord Vader from the Emperor. Her name is Padme Skywalker.





	you're not the only one

**Author's Note:**

> It's DONE! *cries a little, maybe* 
> 
> There may be errors, I don't even know, I've been over this document so many times. Hopefully it all makes sense.
> 
> Also, this being me, please do not expect anything from the Extended Universe to be in here, apart from like one reference that might have snuck in...

** you’re not the only one **

She does her best to keep her face regal and composed as she puts one foot in front of the other, walking towards the moment her entire life has inevitably been leading towards. 

She focuses on walking in the pretty, impractical shoes she’s wearing. She knows that she is a vision in white satin and taffeta, and doesn’t much care; everything she has ever worn has been carefully selected and tailored to fit by her Kaminoan handlers, except for these shoes. All of the options she was given to choose from were pretty and impractical – she would have preferred a pair of sturdy boots that paired function and form – but it was the first time she’d ever been allowed to choose something for herself. Possibly it will be the last.

The Emperor watches as she walks towards him. Despite his benign smile, his eyes glitter in a way that makes her uneasy. She doesn’t try to rationalise away her uneasiness. Her instincts have saved her life in the past. There were many like her, once, but of all of them, she is the only one deemed fit for the purpose for which she was created. She doesn’t know what happened to the others, her ‘sisters’ – but she can guess.

Five feet from the Emperor’s throne she stops, turns ninety degrees facing away from him, and abases herself, the floofy dress she’s wearing falling into elegant folds. The pose is an uncomfortable one, but her handlers had been very clear in their instructions.

She waits.

Several minutes pass, and discomfort turns to pain, but she stays where she is. 

Eventually, there is the sound of booted footsteps approaching, heavy and even, paired with the sound of artificial breathing.

“Master,” says a voice, and she knows it is Lord Vader’s. She tries not to breathe too quickly.

“Darth Vader.” The Emperor sounds as though he is smiling. “You have done well, my apprentice. These past few years your presence throughout my Empire has been… invaluable.”

Lord Vader does not respond. The Emperor goes on.

“As a gesture of my appreciation, I have arranged a gift for you. I admit, it was quite difficult to procure, however my ability to carry out my will, as you know, is unmatched.”

There is still no response from Lord Vader. But this does not seem to displease the Emperor. He chuckles slightly, and then says, “Turn your gaze upwards, child, and look upon your new master.”

And Padme Skywalker looks up.

For a long moment, she studies the figure in front of her. She’s seen him on the holos, of course, but somehow, he is far more intimidating in person. Towering over her, dressed all in black, and wearing a helmet reminiscent of a human skull, his appearance is certainly scary; but it is the heavy sense of _presence_ that he brings with him that makes him most frightening.

Padme stares at Lord Vader for a long moment, and he stares back. The helmet gives no clue as to his expression.

“Well, Darth Vader?” the Emperor says into the silence. He sounds smug and ever-so-pleased with himself. “The Kaminoans have outdone themselves. She is a perfect replica in every way.”

There is a long pause. Vader continues to stare at Padme without a word. She finds herself worried by his silence. She stays very still.

“Is that not so?” the Emperor says, and this time his tone of voice demands an answer.

A few seconds silence, and then:

“Indeed, Master.” Lord Vader says slowly. “Thank you, Master. She is... a perfect imitation.” His voice is impossible to read.

The Emperor smiles.

“I am so very glad you think so. She is yours to do with as you will, my apprentice.”

“…you are most generous, my Master.”

The Emperor begins another speech, telling Lord Vader that his new possession is fourteen years old, physically speaking, that she has received a specially-tailored education on Kamino… But Lord Vader’s unseen gaze remains fixed unwaveringly on Padme’s face, and somehow she has the feeling that he isn’t really listening to a word that the Emperor is saying.

The Emperor doesn’t seem to care. He finally gives Lord Vader permission to leave, and Lord Vader bows in deference to his will. But the Emperor has one more thing to say.

“By the way,” he says, as Lord Vader rises. The Emperor’s smile is placid, but when Padme darts a glance at him, there is a glint in his eyes. “She answers to Padme Skywalker. I felt that name was most suitable.”

Lord Vader pauses in his movements. There is a fraught silence, but only for a moment.

“Of course, Master,” Lord Vader says, and turns. He sweeps away across the throne room floor.

Padme scrambles to her feet, teetering in her impractical shoes, and runs after him. Her handlers have taught her how to walk so that she seems to float across the floor, ladylike and dignified; but there is no time. If she does not catch up to Lord Vader she will be left behind, and she _knows_ that the Emperor will be displeased if that happens. 

She does not wish to earn the Emperor’s displeasure.

Lord Vader’s long stride is difficult to match, and Padme hurries after him. It is only when he stops by a lambda-class shuttle that she quite catches up to him.

Lord Vader turns, and Padme finds herself being surveyed by black lenses that give no hint to their owner’s emotions.

“You will get in the shuttle,” says Lord Vader. Padme complies, stepping neatly up and through the shuttle doorway. Lord Vader enters behind her, and Padme feels a thrill of nervousness as the two of them are alone for the first time.

But Lord Vader sweeps past her and disappears into the cockpit. Padme is left staring after him, wondering what she is expected to do now.

One of the doors in the narrow corridor requires a passcode to enter, and so Padme passes that door and walks on. The next door along does not, and Padme steps into a small room with a table at the centre and chairs spread around it. She settles herself onto one of the chairs, arranging her skirts so that they fall just-so, and waits.

Padme does not have long to wait before Lord Vader appears in the doorway. He regards her for a long moment. Padme looks at him, her expression carefully guarded.

Lord Vader just breathes for a moment. Finally he says, “We have arrived aboard the _Executor._ You will follow me.”

Padme inclines her head.

“Of course, Master.”

She doesn’t expect Lord Vader to bellow at her.

“ _Do not call me Master!”_

Padme flinches back, as startled by the unexpected reaction as she is afraid, but immediately her fear is banished by anger. She tilts her chin in defiance and meets his gaze head-on.

“It is what you are,” she says. “Do you have some kind of aversion to things being named for what they are?”

Lord Vader stares at her, his fists clenching, and Padme hopes that she has not just signed her own death-warrant.

But when Lord Vader speaks his voice is quieter, more even.

“I am not your Master. We are both at the mercy of the Emperor.” 

Padme absorbs that. True or not, something in the mechanical, filtered voice suggests that Lord Vader believes his own words. Padme wants to laugh. Their situations are nothing alike, no matter what Lord Vader thinks.

But Lord Vader’s mood seems – less volatile, for the moment, and so Padme dares to ask the question she has always wondered about.

“Why did the Emperor choose me as your gift?”

She holds her breath as Vader’s fists clench again. But his curt answer sends Padme reeling.

“You are a clone of my wife.”

“Your _wife?_ You were her _husband?_ ” Padme gasps, before both her training in manners and her common sense kick in. 

Padme knows everything there is to know about her predecessor in the available records, but nowhere was it ever mentioned that Padme Amidala had a husband – that she was _married_.

But Amidala is long dead, and if Lord Vader’s words are true…

“I’m sorry,” Padme says, lowering her head. “That was insensitive of me.” But she can’t stop herself from asking the next question, despite all her training and the knowledge that asking too many questions leads to death. “Is my existence supposed to make you feel better?”

It would make sense, Padme thinks, even as her skin crawls at the thought. 

But Lord Vader makes a noise, sounding strange through the vocoder. It takes Padme a moment to realise that it was a laugh.

“No, child. You are supposed to remind me of all that I have lost, the living embodiment of everything that I destroyed.”

Padme’s eyebrows draw close together.

“I don’t understand.”

Lord Vader is silent for a long time, staring at her face, but Padme does not dare interrupt his silence, not after asking so many questions in such a short time.

Finally Lord Vader answers.

“I believed that she had turned against me,” he says, and his voice is staticky with emotion, indecipherable through the vocoder. “In my rage, I reacted badly. I did not intend to kill her, but my intent was irrelevant. I killed her all the same, and destroyed my only reason for living.”

Padme stares in horror.

Amidala’s death has long been a mystery to her; the official records were unable to explain why a woman of Amidala’s age and good health had died so suddenly. But she had died in the last days of the Clone Wars, as Republic splintered and foundered and was replaced by Empire… they had been tumultuous, violent days, and reading between the lines Padme had assumed that Amidala had simply been killed in the chaos, somehow, with no one the wiser as to exactly how or why. After all, people in power always have enemies.

But this… the truth is infinitely more horrible.

“You killed her?” She can’t keep the horror and revulsion out of her face, even though she knows it could mean her death – if Lord Vader reacts in anger...

But Lord Vader turns his head away from her, and the sound of his breathing fills the room. He does not reply.

Once Padme can think past the horror of it, past her own situation – she is in the power of the man who _murdered_ her predecessor, _his own wife_ – she has another thought. It sends chills through her.

“What did you mean, I am supposed to remind you of all you have lost? Surely the Emperor could not be so cruel.” 

But she thinks of the glint in the Emperor’s eyes when he told Lord Vader her name, and wonders.

Instead of answering, Lord Vader asked her a question.

“Do you know what will happen to you if I displease him?”

Padme shakes her head, a chill going down her spine.

“The Emperor will likely have you tortured or killed in order to punish me, knowing that it will bring me pain to see a likeness of my wife treated thus.”

There is a long silence. Padme swallows.

“Then I humbly ask that you do your best not to displease him.”

Lord Vader looked at her again.

“Foolish child, sometimes there is no pleasing the Emperor. He wishes to be displeased, so that he has reason to remind his subjects of the power he wields over them, and to prevent them from becoming complacent with their own ability to please him. Moreover, he is the kind of man to find displeasure in the most trivial of matters, even when more important matters have been arranged exactly to his liking.”

Padme stares at him. She can barely breathe. Somehow, she manages to force out words.

“You are saying, then, that my death is inevitable.”

Lord Vader does not mince words, although his voice is softer than before.

“Yes.”

Padme smoothes out the folds of her dress, and tries to think through the fear and despair that have her heart in a vise.

She had always known that she was in a precarious position, but she had thought that if she was clever enough, good enough, obedient enough, then she could stave off the reaper. But if her death is truly inevitable… then what is the point?

She raises her head, tilts up her chin.

“Then I shall meet my death with as much dignity and grace as possible.”

Her words are only half-true, half-bluff, because very real terror is coursing through her, clawing at her throat; but there is a core of truth at the centre of them. Padme has her pride; even if no one else has ever valued her beyond her price-tag, Padme values _herself_.

Lord Vader makes an abortive movement, as though to reach out; for what purpose, Padme does not know. But he stops himself before the gesture is completed, and his gloved hand falls back down by his side. After a moment he curls it around his belt.

There is silence. Lord Vader just stands there.

“Follow me,” he says after a while, and turns and leaves the room in a swirl of cape.

Padme gets to her feet and does as she is told, because what else is there to do?

When she disembarks, there is an officer waiting in front of Lord Vader.

“My lord, there have been no incidents in your absence,” he says, before his eyes go to Padme, and blinks. Vader glances around.

“Child, come here.” Padme does.

Lord Vader looks back at the officer – an Admiral, if Padme is correctly reading the significance of the coloured bars attached to his uniform.

“This is... Padme Skywalker. She was a gift from the Emperor. She is to be given VIP quarters, and access to my own chambers.” He looks back at Padme. “You are to use that access in case of emergency only. I do not like to be disturbed.”

Padme silently nods. Lord Vader looks back at the Admiral. 

“Aside from granting her access to my chambers, she is to be given Level Epsilon access. She is not to leave this ship unless I do. You are to provide her with all the necessities.”

“Understood, Lord Vader,” said the Admiral, his expression carefully blank.

As Lord Vader turns, Padme asks, “Where are you going?”

“That is none of your business,” he says over his shoulder. “Admiral Piett will show you to your new quarters.”

He strides away without a backward glance.

Padme is left standing alone with the Admiral. When she glances back at him the Admiral is already looking at her. His expression suggests awkwardness.

“It appears that I am dependent on you, Admiral,” Padme says.

If anything, the Admiral grows even more awkward.

“Apparently,” he says. “Do you have any luggage, Miss Skywalker?”

Padme shakes her head.

“Only what I’m wearing.”

Admiral Piett frowns, but Padme senses that the expression is not aimed at her.

“In that case, I shall make arrangments for suitable clothing for you. The VIP quarters are all stocked with appropriate toiletries, however if there is anything you wish to specifically request, I will see to it that it is brought to you.”

Now Padme feels awkward, too.

“You don’t have to–” she protests, but the Admiral cuts her off.

“Lord Vader made me responsible for you. He does not tolerate failure,” he says, and then his face softens slightly. “But it isn’t much trouble. I have a niece about your age, so I have some awareness of what passes for fashion among teenage girls.”

“Well, in that case… thank you.” Padme is not sure how else to respond.

After arranging for a security pass for Padme, Admiral Piett gives her a tour of the public areas of the ship. Padme follows him through the labryrinthine corridors, easily memorising the different routes; Kamino was much the same, a mess of endless white hallways that could lead anywhere. Padme is shown to the bridge, where Lord Vader is apparently most likely to be found when not in his private quarters. After that she is taken to the officers’ mess hall. As she walks in, people turn and stare. So far, Padme has yet to see a single woman on board. The officer’s mess hall is no different: all the officers currently eating lunch there are men.

“Piett, who’s this?” asks one of the other officers, looking down his nose at Padme with an odd mixture of dismissal and interest. It makes Padme’s skin prickle.

“My name is Padme Skywalker,” she says, making her voice aloof and contemptuous. The officer laughs.

“Come on, now, kid, there’s no need to be–”

Admiral Piett cuts him off.

“Miss Skywalker is the honoured guest of Lord Vader,” he says, loud enough to be heard by the entire room. 

The officer’s body language abruptly changes.

“I mean no disrespect,” he says, and his attitude is markedly different from a moment ago. He does not do a particularly good job of covering his sudden fear.

Padme gives him a brittle smile.

“I’m sure.”

Admiral Piett clears his throat.

“Perhaps I should show you to your new quarters?” he suggests. Padme nods, and is grateful for the chance to escape all the staring faces.

Padme’s new quarters are frankly luxurious. After the sterility of Kamino’s clone quarters, the lush carpet, huge double-bed with its thick coverlet, and the enormous bathroom are a nice change, even if Padme is wary about what has brought about that change. She thanks Admiral Piett, and the moment he shuts the door, begins exploring.

The bed is soft yet firm, and very comfortable. Padme sits on the edge and bounces a few times, enjoying the springy feel of a proper bed instead of a bunk built into the wall. She bends down and takes off her shoes. While she likes them, and will always value them for having been able to choose them herself, her feet feel sore from walking around in the high heels for so long. The moment the shoes are off she stretches out her feet, wriggling her toes in the soft carpet.

There is a desk against one wall, with a data terminal. Padme has every intention of seeing how much access she has to information here, but first, she wants to get a better look at the bathroom.

The cupboards above the sink are large, and filled with different bottles. There are hair-care products, deoderants, tooth-cleaning pastes, and much more. Out of curiosity, Padme takes the lid off a scent-bottle labelled _One Thousand Flowers_ , and sniffs. The scent is delicate but strong. Padme breathes it in, wondering if this is what flowers smell like. She’s read about flowers, of course, but the hydroponic gardens on Kamino only grew essential fruits and vegetables, not flowers grown for their perfume or aesthetic appearance. Padme has always wished to see real flowers… but at this point, she might never see them.

Suddenly, it’s all too much. Padme sinks into a heap of taffetta and satin on the bathroom floor and _bawls_. It’s only for a few minutes, before she gets control of herself, and then Padme wipes at her eyes and takes deep breaths until the urge to sob is – not gone, precisely, but able to be ignored.

The future looks strange and frightening, assuming that she even has a future. But Padme is resilient: she will take what the universe throws at her for as long as she can bear it.

* * *

In the weeks that follow, Padme settles into life aboard the _Executor_.

The news that Lord Vader has a new companion spread like wildfire across the _Executor_ , with reactions ranging from the crude to the thoughtful. Padme is aware that the other occupants of the ship talk behind her back in hushed voices. She is _very_ aware of what some of them think she is; after all, she is young and beautiful, and female. The thought of what they think makes her want to claw people’s eyes out, but she contents herself with frigid glares in the direction of those who are foolish enough to leer at her in suggestion. Others speculate that Padme is Lord Vader’s secret daughter, which also makes her uncomfortable, although in a very different way.

In the meantime, Lord Vader makes no demands of her, not even of her presence. Their paths intersect at times, of course; and when they do, Lord Vader stares at her, the way he always does. Sometimes he asks after her health, or asks whether Admiral Piett is seeing to everything she needs. Other times, Padme asks him polite questions, about the day-to-day running of the ship or about where his latest trip around the galaxy in search of rebels is taking them this time.

Lord Vader always carefully answers her questions. After a while, Padme comes to suspect this is his way of attempting to be kind. After that, she pays more attention to his mannerisms, trying to figure him out.

She soon realises that Lord Vader is unexpectedly awkward. No one else seems to have noticed – they’re all too terrified of him – but Padme has become certain that Lord Vader’s abrupt speech, and that infuriating way he has of just suddenly walking away mid-conversation and leaving people confused and worried, are because Lord Vader has no idea how to talk to others like a normal person.

But with Padme he tries, in a way he tries with no one else. And despite the horror of her situation – despite knowing exactly what kind of a man Lord Vader is – Padme finds herself… intrigued.

But then, no one else aboard the _Executor_ really talks to her besides Admiral Piett, who devotes himself to superficial pleasantries and small-talk and nothing else. It’s bizarre that out of the thousands of people on-board this ship, the only real companion she has is Lord Vader. 

She wonders if it’s the same for him.

Padme’s days aboard the _Executor_ are more or less the same. They might vary in the details, but mostly Padme studies historical records, learning all she can about the galaxy she lives in, goes for walks on the viewing deck with its incredible views of the space and planets around the ship, and reads improbable romance novels downloaded from the Imperial Library of Coruscant, thanks to the subscription Admiral Piett arranged for her at her slightly-embarrassed request. Occasionally she ventures out to the officer’s mess hall for meals.

Padme hates to admit it, but her encounters with Lord Vader make for the most interesting parts of her day. After a while, she begins to seek him out.

She doesn’t know exactly why he always looks at her, his expression inscrutable behind that mask of his; but eventually, she calls him on it.

“You’ve been watching me,” she says, her voice carefully neutral, stating a fact rather than making an accusation. 

To her surprise, Lord Vader hesitates. Breathes.

“Why?” Padme adds, when it looks like she isn’t going to get an answer.

This time, Lord Vader responds.

“I have a number of reasons, young one.” 

“Can I hear some of them?”

Lord Vader doesn’t quite shrug. Padme wonders if he’s even capable of that kind of movement anymore. She doesn’t know much about his injuries, but it’s fairly obvious that he was badly injured at some point, considering the ventilator doing his breathing for him. 

“I was curious,” Lord Vader says, “about those shoes of yours.”

Surprised, Padme glances down. She’s wearing the pretty, impractical shoes she got to choose herself, the day she was given to him as a gift. They’re made of expensive leather of some kind, bright red, and embroidered with flowery designs.

“My shoes?” Padme looks back at Lord Vader. “What about them?”

“You now possess several pairs of shoes which are far more practical, and no doubt more comfortable, than the ones you currently wear. And yet you consistently choose to wear the impractical shoes. I was curious as to why.”

Padme never expected Lord Vader to ask her anything like this. The unexpectedness of the question takes her aback. It’s not just how random the question is; it’s the fact that Vader is wondering about her personal preferences, about the way her mind works.

Padme tries to pull her scattered thoughts together, but she still feels off-balance. Lord Vader looks at her intently.

“I suppose,” she says, and stops, and begins again. “Well, there are the aesthetics, of course; they’re very attractive shoes... But I wear them because they are the shoes I chose, rather than the ones which were chosen for me. I was never able to choose what clothes I wore, before I came here… these shoes were the first time I had the opportunity to choose clothing for myself, to _own_ something. I suppose that I will always value them for that… for what they represent.”

Padme isn’t sure that her explanation makes sense to anyone else besides her – after all, they’re only shoes. But Lord Vader nods.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

Lord Vader is silent. Padme gets the feeling he is weighing whether or not to respond. Eventually he speaks.

“Whether you believe it or not, child, I was not allowed to own a single possession until I was nine years old. I well remember the moment I was first allowed to keep that which I had been given.”

Padme looks up at him in frank surprise. Lord Vader’s past, before he became the Emperor’s rigth-hand man, is a mystery to all. She would be surprised if he’s ever shared this much about himself with anyone. After all, he doesn’t seem to have any friends, as Padme would judge such things.

After a moment, she smiles tentatively up at him.

“Then you see why I choose to keep wearing these shoes.”

Lord Vader inclines his head.

The conversation founders a bit after that. Vader eventually turns and walks away without any kind of farewell, as he always does. Padme watches him go, feeling thoughtful.

She hasn’t forgotten that she is the property of this man; nor the monstrous things he has done. But he is more than just the sum of his actions, more complex than the holos that reach the news or the stories people tell would suggest. Padme is still wary, always on guard no matter where she goes, aware that she has a facade to keep up at all times. But at least she isn’t expected to be nothing more than a pretty, silent automaton, the way she was on Kamino. Bewildering though it is, Lord Vader seems to expect her to be a person – even if it is, in the end, a person that he owns.

Padme thinks sometimes of the things he said to her on the day when she was given to him. Of the way he had shouted _Do not call me Master!_ at her, the palpable revulsion he’d projected at the idea. Of the things he’d said about the Emperor. And of course, what he’d said about his wife.

Padme finds herself thinking of Amidala a lot. It’s strange, knowing that she is a complete genetic copy of another person. Sometimes Padme wonders what Amidala would have made of her. Would the former Queen have been kind? Or would Padme simply have been dismissed as an inadequate copy, made redundant by the original’s presence? Padme has no way of knowing from the records she’s read. The information available on Amidala paints a picture of a strong, determined woman, but Padme has no idea whether she’s actually like her.

When Lord Vader is sent to Naboo to deal with suspected rebel activity, Padme asks, very tentatively, if she can come along.

Lord Vader looks at her.

“It is only that I should like to see my predecessor’s homeworld,” Padme finds herself explaining, nervously smoothing out the folds in her tunic. Lord Vader has never treated her badly, but she is aware that there is always a first time. “She fought so hard to protect it, that I thought it must be… special. And I wanted to see real flowers. I’ve never seen any.”

Lord Vader continues to look at her.

“Your company on Naboo would not be advisable,” he says. “Its people are still very dedicated to protecting the memory of… their former Queen, the present Queen in particular. Your presence would undoubtedly rouse outrage.”

Padme has never had complete control over her expression, despite her training. Disappointment and some anger leak into her expression.

“They would be outraged because I exist?”

“They would see your existence as an insult to her memory,” says Lord Vader, and Padme wishes that there was more nuance in his mechanical voice, so that she could interpret his emotions more easily. She’d love to have a better idea of what he’s feeling, right now. “The majority of the galaxy does not see clones as independent beings.”

Padme frowns as she thinks her way through his words.

“You mean that they don’t see us as real people,” she finally says, cutting to the heart of what she thinks Lord Vader means. Her frown deepens. “That’s so unfair. I might be a genetic copy, but I’m still a person. I have thoughts and feelings of my own, and experiences that my predecessor never underwent. Just because the law doesn’t recognise that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I am a _person_ , and my name is Padme Skywalker. That is all that should matter.”

Something in Lord Vader’s powerful, heavy presence suddenly _shifts_ , so quickly that Padme jumps a little, and sends a look of startled query towards him. She has the suddenly feeling that Lord Vader is looking at her very, very intently behind his helmet. She doesn’t know why.

“Yes,” Lord Vader finally says, and even through the vocoder, Padme can hear the strangenes in his voice. She looks at him in alarm.

“Are you alright?” she asks, and almost puts out a hand to touch his arm, but thinks better of it at the last second.

Lord Vader turns and strides away without another word.

Later, Padme is in her quarters, reading about the fictional adventures of Imperial pilot Denzel Harlik (who is, at this point in the narrative, stranded on an uninhabited planet after a fighter crash) when there is a buzz at her door. 

That’s never happened before.

She opens it, and finds two junior officers standing outside her door, one of them with his arms full of… flowers.

Padme stares at the gigantic bouquet. She’s never seen real flowers before. They’re much more colourful than she expected.

“Are those for me?” she asks, surprised and delighted.

“Yes, ma’am.” The junior officer holding the flowers tries to salute, almost drops the massive bouquet, and thinks better of saluting. He looks nervous, and almost as young as Padme is. “Lord Vader’s orders.”

“Thank you,” Padme says, taking the bouquet from him. The second junior officer clears his throat.

“We also have a vase for you to put them in,” the junior officer says, holding up a lovely blue-and-white vase.

“Can you come in and put it on the table for me?” Padme asks, smiling at them. The first junior officer turns brick-red and looks even more nervous. “I don’t think I can carry the vase _and_ the flowers at once.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” says the second junior officer. As Padme turns away from the door, he jabs his buddy in the side when he thinks Padme can’t see, muttering what sounds like the words _comport yourself_ at him.

The junior officers fill the vase with water from the bathroom, and place it on the table. Padme arranges the bouquet carefully, and the first junior officer stammers out, “Do you need any more help, ma’am?”

“Thank you, but that will be all,” Padme says, and the junior officers take their leave, shutting the door to her quarters as they go.

Padme looks down at her flowers, spilling out of the vase to hang over its sides, bright and colourful and bringing with them a beautiful scent quite unlike the one in Padme’s perfume-bottle. Padme bends her head and breaths it in. Then she goes looking for Lord Vader.

He’s in his office, a repurposed conference room not far from the the main briefings room. He looks up from his datapad as Padme opens the door.

“Did you have me sent flowers?”

“I trust they were acceptable,” says Lord Vader.

“They’re wonderful,” says Padme, beaming so widely that her face hurts. “I’ve always wanted to see real flowers! They’re even better than I imagined. Thank you so much.”

Lord Vader looks at her, and the sense of something disquieting in his presence, for once, isn’t there.

“Your thanks are unnecessary.”

“Of course they’re necessary. You brought me flowers, that’s – I had to tell you how much I appreciate them,” Padme objects, because even if it wasn’t basic manners, she _had_ to tell him.

Lord Vader only looks at her, and Padme realises that he doesn’t know how to react to her thanks. Not for the first time, she wonders what kind of events shaped him – a man with such capacity for ruthless action, who does not know how to respond to simple gratitude over a kind gesture. She does wonder, for the first time, how rare kindness is, in his world – either as the giver, or the one being given it.

Her smile gentles.

“It was kind of you,” she says, and his response is immediate.

“I am not _kind_.”

“I know,” Padme says, because she does. The words _but you have the capacity for it_ and _I think it’s a shame you’re not_ both come to her lips, but remain unspoken out of a sense of self-preservation. 

Lord Vader turns his head sharply as though he hears the words all the same. His presence changes.

Padme stares at him, wonders if he can somehow read minds, as ludicrous as the thought is. She lays a mental blanket over her thoughts, hiding them away, the way she did on Kamino whenever she had a dangerous thought.

Lord Vader stares at her, but there is an edge there that wasn’t there before.

“You are strong in the Force,” he says, as though it is a revelation.

“I’m what?” 

But Lord Vader throws his datapad aside and stands.

“Come with me,” he says. Padme is about to ask what is going on, but a sense of terrible urgency that isn’t hers seizes her, and pulls her along in Lord Vader’s wake as he vacates the room.

Padme follows him through the ship’s many corridors, hurrying to keep up. Lord Vader completely ignores the officers who try and get his attention as he strides by.

“Lord Vader, Grand Moff Tarkin is calling–” one says, cringing, but Vader cuts the officer off with a wave of his hand and the man obediently falls silent, eyes wide with fear.

Padme continues to follow Lord Vader as people scramble to get out of his way, and wonders where they’re going.

She gets her answer when they arrive at the medical wing.

“What’s going on?” she asks, still gripped by the strange sense of urgency radiating off Lord Vader, but feeling increasingly baffled by it.

Lord Vader does not answer her. Instead he turns to face the medical officer who comes stalking over.

“Lord Vader.” It’s clear she doesn’t like his sudden presence in her medical wing.

“I need a genetic test done,” Lord Vader says, even more abrupt than usual. “A comparison of my genetic material with the girl’s. Do not tell anyone that it is being done.”

“A genetic test?” Padme echoes, astonished. “But–”

“Wait,” says Lord Vader, and Padme falls silent.

The medical officer eyes them with even more surprise than Padme is feeling.

“I’ll need a sample from both you and the child,” the medical officer says.

“My genetic material is already on file. I will temporarily allow you access,” says Lord Vader. “You will need to take a blood sample from the girl.”

The medical officer nods, and turns to Padme.

“Sit on the bed over there, I’ll be back in a minute with the equipment.” She looks back at Vader. “There’s a data terminal over there.”

Lord Vader makes his way over to the data terminal while Padme sits on the bed and rolls up her sleeve at the medical officer’s direction. There is a swift, painful prick at Padme’s arm, before the medical officer inserts the sample into the device she’s holding and begins a scan. 

Lord Vader re-joins them.

“Comparing your genetic material with hers right now,” says the medical officer. “The results of the comparison should be available… now,” she finishes, as the device in her hand beeps.

She stares at the screen.

“Well?” Lord Vader demands. The medical officer looks up from the device.

“There is a definite genetic match… parent-to-child. Her genetic material is clearly augmented, but there’s no doubting you’re her father. Congratulations, it’s a girl. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actual patients to attend to.” 

For a moment Lord Vader doesn’t seem to hear her. But at the medical officer’s last words he turns his head away from Padme, and levels a finger at her.

“Delete those results immediately. Such a test was never done, do you understand?”

The medical officer scowls.

“I understand the concept of medical confidentiality, Lord Vader. Is there anything else?”

“That will be all.”

As the medical officer walks away, Padme stares up at Lord Vader.

“I’m not a clone?” Her voice wavers in spite of herself. She feels numb.

“You are not. You are my daughter.” The anger, the sheer rage Padme can feel in Lord Vader’s presence should be frightening, but Padme is still in shock.

“Then I really am a person – legally, even,” she says.

Lord Vader reaches out, and rests a gloved hand on her shoulder.

“You are.”

Emotion begins filtering back in. Padme finally registers what she can feel in Lord Vader’s presence.

“You’re angry,” Padme says.

Lord Vader removes his hand from her shoulder, forms a fist with it instead.

“The Emperor has deceived me,” he says. “However you came to be, whatever scientific process created you, you are my angel’s child – _my_ child – and no doubt Sidious derived amusement from the fact that I did not know.”

“You’re my _father_ ,” Padme says, as it finally sinks in. 

“I am,” agrees Lord Vader, and there is something in his presence that Padme does not recognise, but leans into all the same.

For the first time in her life, against all logic, Padme feels… safe.

“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” Padme asks, and then has a realisation. “Wait, then – that means Amidala is my _mother_.” 

That’s a… baffling realisation. Padme has a better idea of how to react to the news that Lord Vader is her father, acquainted with him as she is. But Amidala is nothing more than a few portraits and a dense scattering of biographical records. Fitting Amidala into place in Padme’s life as her mother is a more difficult task than accepting that Lord Vader is her father.

Lord Vader looks down at Padme, and in his presence Padme can sense his wonder amid his rage at the Emperor.

_ Something of my angel yet lives _ , Lord Vader thinks without saying anything aloud, very clearly, and Padme casts him a startled glance.

“What are you going to do?” Padme asks, after a moment. She decides to ignore the thought she overheard, for now.

“I do not know,” says Lord Vader. “While the Emperor has control over us both, I cannot ensure your safety. But I am not powerful enough to overthrow him. I am… damaged.”

Padme can sense how much that admission grates at him.

“The Force,” she says, returning to Lord Vader’s earlier statement. “You said I’m strong in the Force. What does that mean, exactly?”

“This is not a discussion to hold where anyone may overhear. Come, we shall return to my office.”

They walk back through the labyrinthine hallways. When they reach Lord Vader’s office, he pauses, and begins inspecting the room. Padme watches in confusion. After a few minutes, Lord Vader returns to stand before Padme. 

“What were you doing?” she asks.

“Ensuring that no listening devices have been placed in my absence,” says Lord Vader. 

“Oh.” 

That makes sense.

Lord Vader begins to explain about what the Force is, and how it works. Padme listens. When Lord Vader mentions the Jedi and the Sith, Padme seizes on the word, recognising it from her reading.

“The Jedi,” she says. “The records say that they betrayed the Republic and were wiped out in the transition from Republic to Empire. They had abilities like yours?”

“They were able to use the light side of the Force,” says Lord Vader. “Their grasp of it and their abilities were very different from my own. I am a Sith, not a Jedi.”

That leads into a discussion of the difference between the light and dark sides of the Force, and the difference between the Sith and Jedi. The Jedi practiced serenity, and intervened in the matters of the rest of the galaxy only when it was necessary to keep the peace. One of their aims was to annihilate users of the dark side wherever they found them. The Sith drew on anger, hatred, and the darker emotions in order to fuel their abilities, and their ambitions were both power and the destruction of the Jedi Order.

“But that’s ridiculous,” says Padme. “Surely there must be some middle ground? It sounds as though both sides are as bad as each other. Can’t someone draw from both sides of the Force, without preferring one or the other, or wanting to destroy those who use it differently?”

Lord Vader stares at her. Padme wonders if she has said something wrong.

“I mean,” she says, “surely both the Sith and the Jedi have helpful skills, and less-valuable ones? Just because you’re using one side of the Force doesn’t mean that you need to subscribe to the entire Jedi or Sith philosophy – does it?”

“The Force does not work like that,” says Lord Vader, but slowly, as though he’s thinking about it.

“Perhaps not, but aren’t the teachings of each group just that – teachings? Constructs?”

“I–” Lord Vader says, and stops. “Your views are ill-informed, child.”

“Perhaps, but are they _wrong?_ ”

“It is immaterial,” says Lord Vader. “I cannot change what I am. It is far too late.”

Padme privately doubts that, but does not say so.

“If you are a Sith, does that mean that the Emperor is, too?” she asks instead.

“The Emperor is Darth Sidious, the Sith Master. I am but his apprentice, and shall remain such until I overthrow him. Then I shall become the Master.”

“But you aren’t powerful enough to overthrow him.” Padme remembers Lord Vaders earlier words on the matter.

“I am not.”

“Are there any other Force users who can help? Former Jedi in hiding, perhaps? Surely, after everything that was done to them, they would leap at the chance to defeat the Emperor.”

Lord Vader lets out a sound that is poorly-conveyed by his vocoder.

“I am the Empire’s boogeyman, the face of Imperial violence. It is possible that any surviving Force users hold more hatred for me than they do the Emperor. It was I who personally took care of the Jedi, after all. Even if they hate the Emperor more, it does not mean that they would trust me not to kill them the moment they are no longer useful – and they would be right not to do so.”

Padme makes a face, and for once doesn’t try to hide it.

“Why are you so averse to your capacity for kindness?” she asks.

“Perhaps because the universe has shown me so little, child,” is Lord Vader’s instant retort. “Kindness is a weakness.”

Padme lifts her chin.

“It is not. Is there anything braver than to see all the unkindness in the world, and to think, _I will take a stand?_ Kindness is the most radical thing anyone can do – to stand in the face of this vast uncaring universe, and to say, _I may be small and insignificant in the scheme of things, but I will change what I can_ – because in the end, even if it’s only temporary, kindness can change someone’s entire world. And that _matters_. I choose to be kind where I can be, not because people have been particularly kind to me, but because I refuse to be anything else.”

Lord Vader stares at her yet again.

“Your mother,” he begins and pauses. “Your mother was the same. She believed in… kindness. Courage. Democracy.”

Padme doesn’t understand. 

“But you don’t?”

Lord Vader’s response is simple. The implications are anything but.

“I do not believe in anything, and have not done so for a long time.”

Padme thinks that statement is one of the saddest things she’s ever heard. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, with genuine compassion, and Lord Vader stares at her as though he finds her confusing.

Compassion shouldn’t be such a foreign concept that he finds it confusing, but apparently it is.

“I suppose I’ll have to do the believing for both of us, then,” says Padme, and smiles up at him.

Lord Vader stares back. They look at each other for a long and silent moment.

Eventually Lord Vader says, “I doubt that there are any Force users willing to assist me in overthrowing the Emperor, however there is one man who might know if any remain. He has long been suspected of rebel sympathies, but if so, he is good enough at covering his tracks that I have never found sufficient evidence of treason to convict someone of his standing.”

“Who is he?”

“Prince Bail Organa, consort to the Queen of Alderaan.” Lord Vader puts his hands on his belt, moves restlessly. “He was… he was a friend of your mother’s, and knew a number of the Jedi.” He looks at Padme. “This cannot wait. We must go to Alderaan immediately.”

“We?” Padme echoes.

“Prince Organa may be an intelligent, pragmatic man, but I have observed that he has a sentimental streak,” Lord Vader says. “Your presence may assist in convincing him of my sincerity.”

“Because I look like Ami– like my mother?” says Padme, changing her phrasing from _Amidala_ to _my mother_ at the last second.

“In part, yes,” says Lord Vader. “If he does not know who I once was, then he must be told. My motivations make no sense, otherwise.”

“Who you once were?” Padme repeats.

Lord Vader drums his fingers against his belt. He’s _fidgeting_ , Padme realises.

“I was once Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, and husband to Padme Amidala,” he says finally. His presence roils with unease and old hurt. “I renounced both my name and my title of Jedi Knight when I became Darth Vader.”

“When you became a Sith,” says Padme, understanding. “So your real name is Anakin Skywalker?”

“ _No_. That name no longer has any meaning to me. Anakin Skywalker – is dead.”

Padme frowns, because the logical flaw in that statement is evident.

“But I’m the child of Anakin Skywalker and his wife,” she says carefully, “yet you’re still happy to claim me as your daughter.”

Lord Vader’s response is to point a finger at her.

“Do not attempt to trap me with semantics. I am no longer that man.” His tone is severe, even through the vocoder.

Padme isn’t sure she believes this, but accepts it – for the moment, at least.

“Fine. You’re not Anakin Skywalker. Do you intend to set a course for Alderaan immediately?”

Lord Vader nods.

“I shall inform Admiral Piett of our need to change course.” He considers Padme for a moment. “Wear your most fancy piece of clothing.”

Padme raises her eyebrows, but follows his reasoning.

“I take it you wish to enhance my likeness to my mother.” She’s seen enough holos of Amidala to know that the woman never went for sartorial simplicity unless there was a battle involved, and even then, her outfits were stylish despite their functionality.

“Precisely.”

Padme nods.

“Very well, I’ll go to my quarters and get changed.”

Padme does.

Surveying her wardrobe, Padme comes to the conclusion that the fanciest, most Amidala-like outfit she owns is the one she was wearing the day the Emperor gifted her to Lord Vader. No doubt that was deliberate on the Emperor’ part, to play up the illusion that Padme was a perfect clone of her mother. 

It makes sense to wear that particular gown now. But Padme doesn’t like being reminded of the fact that she’s spent most of her life being treated as a piece of property. 

She wears the gown anyway. She compromises by wearing sturdy white boots beneath it; after all, the gown is long enough that it’s unlikely anyone will notice. She also outlines her eyes with makeup, and colours her mouth a subtle shade of red. Amidala was known for her use of cosmetics, as well as the fancy gowns.

She swans onto the bridge, where Lord Vader is staring directly into the disturbing sight of hyperspace. He turns, sensing her presence, and looks at her.

“We should reach Alderaan within a few minutes. Come. We will take my personal shuttle.”

* * *

The Prince Consort of Alderaan agrees to meet with them, despite the short notice.

“Lord Vader–” he begins, and then sees Padme, walking gracefully behind Lord Vader. He turns as white as any ghost.

“You _dare,_ after what you did to her–” Prince Organa says, so full of shock and fury that he forgets himself. A moment later he remembers who he is talking to, and shuts up. But he clearly can’t bring himself to apologise for his lapse in propriety.

Lord Vader considers him.

“My daughter’s existence did not come about at my instigation,” he says. “And she is not a clone. The Emperor somehow obtained genetic material from both myself and – my wife. But this is a topic best discussed in private.”

Prince Organa has control over himself now, although there is still fury in his eyes.

“Very well,” he says, after a long pause. “Please accompany me to the reception room.”

But Lord Vader shakes his head.

“Your reception room has several listening devices placed by spies for the Emperor. I suggest your study as an alternative.”

The news that the reception room is bugged does not endear Lord Vader to Prince Organa at all, Padme can tell. But the Prince nods, and turns to lead them to his study.

It’s a nice study, large and spacious, and decorated with art. It is clearly a private space, rather than a public one. Lord Vader sweeps in as though he owns it, and begins to survey the room.

“Lord Vader,” Says Prince Organa, looking increasingly angry.

“He’s checking for listening devices,” Padme informs him. The Prince sends her a glance which Padme finds impossible to read.

Lord Vader turns, and looks directly at Prince Organa, who tenses.

“My daughter is not safe,” he says, going for the blunt approach. “The Emperor was responsible for her creation. He informed me that she was a clone. No doubt he expected me to react violently towards her as a result of the memories her presence evoked.”

Prince Organa looks at Lord Vader warily.

“How did you discover that she was your daughter?”

“Through my realisation that she is strong in the Force,” says Lord Vader. “My wife had very little sensitivity to the Force. It became obvious that my daughter could not be a clone. I arranged for genetic testing to be done. The results were clear.” Lord Vader pauses. “If the Emperor discovers that I know the truth about my daughter, he will have her killed.”

“Why have you come to me?” Prince Organa asks.

“The Emperor must be overthrown to ensure my child’s safety, but I am incapable of overthrowing him without assistance. I suspect that you know of Jedi who survived the Purges. Perhaps one of them would be willing to compromise their principles long enough to aid me in ridding the galaxy of the Emperor.”

Prince Organa stares at him, shocked into silence. Padme can sense him struggling for words.

It is at this moment that the door to the study opens.

“Father,” says a girl only a year or two older than Padme, before her eyes land on Lord Vader. “Excuse me, I was not aware that Father was in a meeting,” she says, and her tone of voice is frigid. Then her eyes land on Padme, and widen to comical proportions.

“Leia–” Prince Organa begins, voice frantic, but too late.

“Why do you look like my birth mother?” the girl demands of Padme.

Lord Vader’s bellow makes the room shake.

_ “WHAT?”  _

He whirls to face Prince Organa, his presence a firestorm of rage. It’s ten times worse than when Lord Vader realised that Padme was his child. The entire room is vibrating. 

“Padme’s child _lives?_ And you _hid her from me?_ ” Lord Vader roars.

“You killed Padme, who says you would not have done the same to her daughter?” shouts Organa, and Leia – Padme’ _sister_ – gasps.

Organa does not have a chance to say anything else, because Lord Vader’s fist clenches, and Organa chokes, his hand flying to his throat. He makes terrible choking sounds, and Leia screams.

“Stop it! Leave my Father alone!”

Padme flings herself across the room and latches onto Lord Vader’s outstretched arm.

“Father, stop!” she begs. “Please! Look at _her!_ Look at your other daughter!”

Lord Vader turns. 

Leia is staring at Prince Organa, in terror for his life. As Padme watches, Leia looks at Lord Vader, and there is nothing but rage and revulsion in her gaze.

“Monster!” Leia screams. “Leave him alone!”

Lord Vader stares at her. Abruptly his fist opens.

Across the room Prince Organa gasps, and bursts into a fit of coughing. Leia scrambles to his side, ignoring Lord Vader completely.

“Father!” She’s sobbing in relief and rage even as she desperately asks Prince Organa if he is alright.

Padme is still clinging to Lord Vader’s arm. He looks down at her, and she looks up at him helplessly, unsure what to say to calm the storm of rage that is still roiling.

Prince Organa is doing his best to comfort Leia through his coughing fit, while keeping a shaken eye on Lord Vader.

Padme lets go of Lord Vader’s arm.

“If the Emperor discovers that the Princess is my child, he will come after her,” Lord Vader says, his voice full of menace.

“I know that, damn you!” Prince Organa manages to say.

“Father, what are you saying? Vader _can’t_ be my biological father!” says Leia.

“Leia–”

“Denying your parentage will not change the truth of the matter,” says Lord Vader.

Leia glares, but says nothing, looking to Prince Organa instead. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

“There is one Jedi still alive that I know of,” says Prince Organa to Lord Vader. He looks weary, defeated. “Whether he will assist you I do not know.”

“Tell me.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi lives on Tatooine,” says Prince Organa, and there is another flare of rage from Lord Vader’s churning presence.

“That traitor lives?” But then Lord Vader pauses, his anger on-hold for a moment as a thought occurs to him. “Why Tatooine?”

“He said that if there was one planet you would seek to avoid, Tatooine was it,” says Prince Organa. But Padme catches a flare of… of something, and knows that while he’s not lying, he’s not being entirely truthful, either. Evidently Lord Vader senses the same thing.

“No. That is not the only reason. Tell me the truth.”

“I am telling the truth–”

“ _Do not lie to me!_ ” Vader’s fists clench.

Prince Organa flinches.

“You will have to ask General Kenobi that question yourself,” he says, surprisingly brave in the face of Lord Vader’s wrath.

“He is no general – the Republic he served is long gone,” says Lord Vader. “Where on Tatooine will I find him?”

Prince Organa shakes his head.

“I don’t know.”

Lord Vader looks at the Prince for a long moment, but seems to decide that he isn’t lying.

“Very well.”

He turns away from where Prince Organa and Leia are still sitting on the floor, and looks at Padme.

“We have the information we need.” 

He stalks from the room, expecting her to follow.

Padme stays behind, but only for a moment.

“I am so sorry,” she tells the Prince and her sister, before hurrying after Lord Vader. She hopes that Prince Organa and Leia will be okay.

* * *

The journey to Tatooine takes place in silence.

Padme gets changed into clothing more suitable for a desert planet, and goes to join Lord Vader on the bridge. He’s staring into hyperspace again, and Padme isn’t sure what to say.

“What’s so bad about Tatooine?” she finally asks.

Lord Vader doesn’t look at her.

“It is where I spent my childhood.”

“Oh.”

Padme doesn’t know what to say to that. She lapses back into silence.

They take a shuttle down to the surface, just her and Lord Vader, disregarding Admiral Piett’s suggestion that they take some stormtroopers with them. The moment Padme steps out of the shuttle she is hit by the searing heat, and squints into the unforgiving sunlight, twice as bright as the artificial lighting she is used to. A light breeze scatters a layer of tiny grains of sand across her boots and pants.

Lord Vader strides out of the shuttle without hesitation. Padme follows, a hand shading her eyes.

At the sight of Lord Vader people start shouting and scrambling to get away, ducking into the doorways of the nearest ramshackle buildings. Lord Vader’s stride does not halt.

“Where are we going?” Padme asks, jogging to catch up with him.

“Mos Eisley Cantina,” Lord Vader says. 

“Why there?”

“Because some of its patrons will undoubtedly be open to either threats or bribery.” 

The Mos Eisley Cantina is a roughly-hewn stone building with a seedy, sleazy interior: dim, smoky, and stinking of alcohol, as well as other less pleasant odours. As Lord Vader walks in, Padme just behind him, a shocked silence falls.

A second later, someone whips out their blaster.

Lord Vader was apparently waiting for someone to do just that, because a brilliant red blade made of light hums to life in his hand, and with agility Padme hadn’t expected, he deflects the blaster bolts back at the shooter.

The shooter screams and collapses. Silence once again falls.

“I am looking for a man named Kenobi,” says Lord Vader, into the silence. He begins to walk around the room, his head turning, his gaze searching the faces of the patrons. “Tell me where I may find him, and I will leave you all unharmed.”

Lord Vader suddenly stops, and looks down at one of the seated patrons. The man hunches right down under his gaze, trying not to make eye contact with him.

“You recognise the name,” Lord Vader says.

“Maybe,” the man stutters. “There’s Old Ben Kenobi, out in the Jundland Wastes, but he’s just a harmless old hermit – a bit strange, sure, but–”

“Silence,” Lord Vader orders. The man falls silent, cringing. “The Jundland Wastes?”

The man nods.

“Where?”

“About ten klicks from the Lars homestead.”

Lord Vader turns and leaves. Padme follows.

They return to the shuttle, and this time, Padme follows Lord Vader into the cockpit and takes a seat in the co-pilot’s chair.

“What are the Jundland Wastes?”

“A particularly treacherous stretch of desert,” Lord Vader says, his voice short. 

Padme doesn’t ask any more questions.

Lord Vader lands the shuttle near a cluster of low domed buildings. He and Padme exit, and begin walking towards the central building. 

Halfway there, an older man appears in the doorway, stepping out into the sand. He looks grimly unsurprised to see Lord Vader. His voice is gruff.

“Hello, Anakin. It’s been a long time.”

“Tell me where Obi-Wan Kenobi is,” says Lord Vader. He doesn’t comment on the use of his original name. Padme looks from Lord Vader to the stranger and back, wondering how they know each other. She has the feeling she is missing something important.

The stranger grimaces.

“That old hermit. I should have known he’d bring trouble down on us.”

“ _Where_ ,” Lord Vader repeats.

The stranger shakes his head, before turning and pointing.

“He lives in a hut, about ten klicks that way. It’s the last piece of civilisation you’ll find before the desert takes over.”

Padme expects Lord Vader to leave. He doesn’t. Instead he slowly circles the stranger, still holding the hilt of his weapon.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi chose this location for a reason. What was he guarding?”

“Nothing,” says the stranger, but a little too quickly. 

Lord Vader’s lightsaber springs to life.

“ _Luke, no!”_ a female voice shouts from inside the nearest building, and a second later, a blonde boy not much older than Padme comes running out.

“Leave my uncle alone!” he shouts. 

Lord Vader goes very still.

“Uncle,” he repeats.

“We don’t know anything about Old Ben Kenobi, alright, he’s just an old hermit who lives out in the Wastes – I’ve never even met him,” the boy says, somehow defiant yet pleading at the same time. “Just leave us alone.”

“You once told me you had no siblings, and neither did your fiance,” said Lord Vader, turning back to the man.

The man – the boy’s uncle? – coughs.

“Half-sister I didn’t know about,” he says, not very convincingly.

Lord Vader turns to look at the blonde boy.

“What is your name, child?”

“Luke, don’t say a word–” the man begins, but the blonde boy is already speaking.

“Luke, Luke Skywalker,” he says, and Padme gasps. “Who are you?”

Lord Vader is silent for a long time, staring at the boy. Padme stares too.

“I am your father,” Lord Vader says.

The boy gapes at him.

“But – my father is dead.”

“Is that what Owen told you?” Lord Vader asks, even as Luke’s uncle snaps, “Dammit, Luke, get back in the house!”

But Luke is looking from Lord Vader to his uncle. 

“Uncle Owen?” It’s clearly a question, a request for explanation. Equally clearly, he has no plans to go back into the house.

“Anakin was a Jedi Knight, until he turned on the Jedi and started calling himself Vader,” says Owen. “Got your mother killed. Obi-Wan told us that, when he brought you to us.”

“What?” Luke looks bewildered, and hurt.

“So you helped keep the truth from my son, as well as from me,” says Lord Vader. 

“We did it to protect him,” says a female voice, and a woman about Owen’s age steps out of the house. “Obi-Wan told us what the Emperor would do, if either you or him found Luke. Was he wrong?”

Lord Vader is silent for a while. Then:

“No. Obi-Wan was right. The Emperor cannot know of Luke or Leia if they are to remain safe.”

“Leia?” Luke pipes up. He still looks very confused.

Padme steps forward.

“Our sister,” she explains, and Luke looks towards her. “Your twin, I think – you look about the same age.”

“Wait – _our_ sister?” Luke looks astonished. “You mean…”

“Lord Vader is my father, too,” says Padme. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Padme Skywalker.”

Luke looks overwhelmed.

“You’re really my sister?” He looks from her to Lord Vader. “And my father?”

“I would not lie about this,” says Lord Vader. “You are my son.”

“He’s not yours,” says Owen. “We raised him, loved him–”

“Please,” says Padme, before a fight can break out. Or more accurately, before Lord Vader can take offense and attack Owen. “No one’s trying to deny you a place in Luke’s life. We just want to have a place in it ourselves.”

The woman – Luke’s aunt? – places a hand on Owen’s arm. He scowls, but looks to Luke.

“I won’t deny I’d rather eat sand than see _him_ again,” says Owen grudgingly. “But he’s your father – I suppose that makes it your decision.”

Luke looks like he has no idea how to feel about any of this. He looks from his aunt and uncle to Padme and Lord Vader, clearly torn.

“Do I have to choose?” he says at last. “I mean – you’re all my family. Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen raised me, but… you’re my _father_ , my sister. Can’t I have all of you?”

Lord Vader stares at his son. Padme doesn’t think she’s imagining the second-hand longing she can feel. Nor the confusion.

For her part, she’s not sure how to react to the revelation that she has a brother, and a sister. She never had a family before – and now she has a father and two siblings, all in one day. She understands why Luke feels overwhelmed. She’s feeling that way herself.

Everyone looks at Lord Vader, waiting for his reaction.

“I will not deny you your connection to your caregivers–”

“You mean your stepbrother and sister-in-law,” Owen mutters, and is shushed by Beru.

“–if that is what you desire. In any case, the Emperor must be destroyed before we may openly admit to being family.”

Luke looks confused.

“But why?”

“That story is too long to tell.” Lord Vader looks to Owen and Beru. “Did Obi-Wan explain?”

Owen snorts.

“You think that crazy old Jedi tells us much when he can keep it close to his chest instead?”

“He told us a little of what happened,” says Beru, “but he didn’t really explain much.”

Lord Vader stands there for a moment. Padme senses indecision from him.

“I wouldn’t mind an explanation, either,” she says. “Surely we have a little time?”

After a moment, Lord Vader looks up at the sky, towards the twin suns. Padme stares in confusion.

“We have time,” Lord Vader decides, looking away from Tatooine’s suns. He looks to Beru. “I would prefer to explain inside. My life-support suit is not built for standing out in the Tatooine sun.”

Both Beru and Owen blink, but are too polite to say anything. Luke, however, blurts out, “ _Life-support suit?”_

“That is part of the explanation,” says Lord Vader, his presence grim.

“Then you’d best come inside,” says Beru.

They do.

Inside, the house isn’t much. It’s very unlike either the lavish surroundings of Padme’s quarters or the sterile clone quarters on Kamino. There is sand and desert dust everywhere, despite the much-used broomstick standing in one corner, and the table is made of plastic, a cheaper alternative to the wooden furniture Padme is used to seeing aboard the _Executor_. 

Beru sets out plastic cups for them all and fills them with water from the covered jug. Padme thanks her, and drinks gratefully. But Lord Vader waves away the water he is offered with the words, “I do not require refreshment.”

Padme ends up sitting with Luke on one side, Beru on the other. Owen sits on the other side of the table. Lord Vader remains standing.

“You promised us an explanation,” says Owen, when Lord Vader remains silent. Clearly he cannot sense the uneasy conflict in Lord Vader’s presence that Padme can. 

But apparently that’s the cue that Lord Vader needs to prompt him into action, because he begins to explain.

“I will start at the beginning,” he says. “As you know, I was born on Tatooine, as a slave…”

It soon becomes obvious that this is not going to be a short story. Padme drinks more water, and listens.

* * *

The story Lord Vader tells them is tragic and horrifying in equal measures. It is also deeply sad.

When Lord Vader finally finishes, there is a long silence. Padme looks at the others. 

Owen and Beru look disturbed. Horror is written large across Luke’s face – but so is a deep, unexpected compassion.

“Now you know the truth,” says Lord Vader, looking at Padme and Luke. “If I do not return from my confrontation with the Emperor, you will at least understand what led me here, and why.”

Padme jolts.

“What do you mean, if you do not return from your confrontation with the Emperor? I thought that the whole point of coming out here to find Kenobi was to ensure that you could overthrow him.”

Lord Vader looks at her.

“The Emperor is powerful. Even if Obi-Wan agrees to assist me, it is possible that the Emperor will be able to overcome a dual assault. You must be prepared for that eventuality, as well as for my potential victory.”

Padme stares at him. Her throat tightens, and the sudden fear she feels is all her own. To her surprise, it’s not all for herself. Lord Vader is so frightening, his behaviour monstrous enough, that Padme hadn’t expected that she would come to care for him. But now – with the possibility that she might never see him again – she realises that she _has_.

But then – Lord Vader is the only one who’s ever treated her as an entire person… and he _is_ her father. Perhaps the connection she feels is not so surprising, after all. 

“But I only just met you,” Luke is protesting. “I can’t just lose you!”

Lord Vader looks at him.

“My son, you must steel yourself for the possibliity.”

Luke looks stubborn. Padme can tell he’s upset. Well, he’s not the only one.

Lord Vader seems to sense her distress, because he reaches out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Padme looks up at him. 

“If I do not return, go to the rebels,” says Lord Vader. “Only with them will you have any chance of safety. Tell them you are the daughter of a Jedi.”

“How will I find them?” Padme’s voice comes out as a croak. “And how long should I wait?”

“If I am not back within twenty-four hours, you must leave here – and so must you, Luke.” Lord Vader turns his head to look at Owen and Beru. “All of you must be ready to flee, if I do not win against the Emperor.”

Owen glares sourly, but Beru nods, with unexpected steel.

“I know some people who will help us,” she says, and Owen whips his head around to stare at her. “They’re not part of the Rebel Alliance, but they have contact with them.”

“Damn it, Beru, what have you been doing behind my back?” Owen demands.

Beru’s response is calm.

“Helping escaped slaves,” she says, and Owen curses. “I was always careful, Owen.”

Owen rounds on Luke.

“Did you know about this? Did you _help?_ ”

Luke looks guilty.

“Well–”

“Do not make them ashamed for their kindness,” Lord Vader interrupts, his voice fierce – but Padme thinks she understands, after hearing about his past as a slave. 

Owen grumbles under his breath, but not very loudly.

Lord Vader looks out the door, at the mid-afternoon sun.

“I must go,” he says.

“Try and come back,” Padme says, and Luke adds his agreement.

“Keep them both safe,” Lord Vader tells Beru, and turns, cape swirling. Padme watches him leave, feeling something tight and constricting in her chest as Lord Vader disappears from view.

She is left sitting at the table with these strangers – they might be family, but Padme is unsure of what exactly that means.

“He’ll be okay,” Luke says, but Padme has the feeling that he’s trying to convince himself, more than her.

Beru and Owen exchange looks.

“Luke, help me tune up the speeder,” Owen says. Luke nods, and the two of them leave the room.

Padme looks at Beru, feeling worried and uncertain.

Beru smiles at her, the expression kind and gentle.

“You look very like your mother,” she says.

“I know.”

“We should probably start packing, just in case,” says Beru. “Will you help me?”

“Of course,” says Padme. It’s a relief to not have to sit there, doing nothing, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen.

She follows Beru from the room, her heart heavy in her chest.

* * *

That night, Padme lies awake in the makeshift bed Beru and Owen set up for her in Luke’s room. Beru apologises for making her share with him, but they don’t have the space for Padme to have a room all to herself. Padme tells her it’s fine, even as she looks around the small room. It’s pretty bare, but there’s a model X-wing dangling from the ceiling by a piece of string, and a flyer advertising the Imperial Academy on one wall.

Luke gets to sleep almost immediately, lapsing into gentle snores. But Padme stares at the ceiling, wide-awake.

She thinks of the other identical girls she’d grown up with on Kamino. Now that she knows she isn’t a clone after all, she wonders if all of them had been Lord Vader’s children, too. Padme immediately resolves never to tell him that she hadn’t been the only one; if Lord Vader ever finds out that he had other daughters who were killed because they failed the Emperor’s exacting standards, his temper will truly rage out of control. But more than that, Padme knows now that the knowledge would break his heart, yet again, and there is nothing that can be done to rescue her sisters from their fate now that they are gone.

Padme tosses and turns all night, trying to get comfortable. But her mind insists on going over all the might-be’s that could lead from Lord Vader’s attack against the Emperor.

When the dawn light begins creeping in through the small, high window, Padme has barely slept at all.

The day stretches on, long and interminable. The dry air is far hotter than Padme is used to, and she’s of little help as the others continue what work there is to be done. Luke laughs and tells her she’s turned the same shade of red as a cactus-bloom, but he also digs out a fan from somewhere to help her keep cool, so Padme forgives him for it. She sits and fans herself in the kitchen where there is a very slight breeze, and worries about Lord Vader’s mission.

As the day wears on, and they get closer and closer to the twenty-four hour mark, Padme grows more and more worried.

Owen claps a hand on her Padme’s shoulder, and she looks up at him.

“Anakin’s come through worse,” he says, gruff but not unkind. “And we’ve a few hours yet before we need to leave.”

Padme only nods, unable to find her voice.

Padme is helping Beru serve the midday meal when it happens. 

One moment, everything is fine; the next Padme is sent reeling at the sheer sense of _darkness_ which engulfs her like a wave. Even as Padme flails for something to ground her, the darkness rolls onward and is gone, as though it never was.

“What was _that?_ Are you alright?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t seem to have felt the wave of darkness as keenly as Padme had; perhaps because Padme is used to attuning herself to another Force-sensitive in the form of Lord Vader, and Luke is not. He bends to help Padme to her feet, while Beru and Owen watch in alarm.

Padme climbs back to her feet, shaking.

“I’m fine–”

There is a sensation like a strand of thread snapping. A sudden absence in the universe.

Padme instantly knows – without needing to be told, even though there is no way she could possible know – that Lord Vader is gone.

A strangled cry leaves her lips.

“Padme?” Beru asks, looking worried.

“He’s gone,” Padme finds herself saying. “Lord Vader is gone.”

“No,” says Luke. “He can’t be.”

Padme blinks away tears, and shakes her head.

“I don’t know how I know, but he _is_. I felt it, like a piece of string was snapped. Lord Vader is dead.”

Luke shakes his head in denial, and runs out of the room even as Beru and Owen call out to him to stop.

“And the Emperor?” Owen asks.

“I don’t know. I experienced a wave of – of darkness just before I felt Lord Vader vanish, but it disappeared within moments. I don’t know what it means.”

Padme smooths out the folds of her tunic, her hands trembling slightly, and tries to keep her composure.

“We’ll wait until twenty-four hours passes, but we need to be ready to go the moment the time is up,” says Owen.

“I’ll go talk to Luke,” says Beru, her voice quiet, and she leaves the room.

In the silence that follows, Owen looks at Padme.

“You’d best eat up,” he advises. “Missing a meal will only make you feel worse.”

Padme nods, and sits at the table. Owen picks up his fork and begins eating, and so Padme does the same.

Luke and Beru join them twenty minutes later. Luke is red-eyed and furious, but he sits and eats his lunch, shoulders hunched in a way that Padme can tell means trouble.

Afterwards, Luke immediately excuses himself and leaves. Padme does the same.

She finds Luke in his bedroom. Luke is lying down, staring at the ceiling, one arm hanging down off the bed.

“Are you okay?” Padme asks him, because while she knew Lord Vader better than Luke did, that doesn’t mean she’s the only one in pain. Luke has probably dreamed all his life of his absent father, and to have him snatched away, after only a single meeting… well, Padme knows she’s not the only one hurting.

And she meant what she said to Lord Vader, about kindness being important.

Luke huffs a laugh, but he’s not really amused.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who’s just lost your father.”

“He was your father, too.”

“Yeah, but – you knew him.” Luke transfers his gaze from the ceiling to Padme. “It’s stupid – I hardly even knew him, but it feels…” 

He doesn’t finish that sentence, but he doesn’t need to.

“You’ve waited all your life to know him,” says Padme. “There’s nothing wrong with being angry that now you never will.”

Luke brushes an arm across his eyes, as though embarrassed by the tears there. He opens his mouth to speak, when there’s a call from the kitchen.

“Luke! Padme!” Beru’s voice is urgent. Luke and Padme exchange looks, and by mutual agreement head towards the kitchen.

Padme stops in the doorway, and Luke almost runs into her. There is a stranger standing in front of Beru and Owen. His hair and beard are white, his face weathered; but his eyes are very blue, and keen, and somehow full of both sorrow and joy at once. Like Lord Vader, he carries a sense of _presence_ with him, although the stranger’s is far more muted.

He blinks at the sight of Padme, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“I can see why your father believed you were a clone.” The stranger’s accent is clipped and concise. “You look remarkably like your mother.”

“No doubt to benefit the Emperor’s ruse,” says Padme, watching him warily. “Who are you?”

The stranger’s smile is unexpectedly warm.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, although for many years I’ve simply gone by the moniker ‘Old Ben.’” 

“Did you and Father kill the Emperor?” Luke blurts out.

Obi-Wan’s smile fades into something too complicated for Padme to name.

“We did. Young ones, I’m afraid your father…”

“We know,” Padme interrupts. “I felt it.” She hesitates, but in the end she asks, “How did he die?”

Obi-Wan sighs.

“The Emperor possessed the ability to create Force-generated lightning. Darth Vader managed to kill him, but was badly injured in the process. He died shortly afterwards.” Obi-Wan sighs again. “I know it will be of little consolation to either of you, but the galaxy can only benefit from his death. A Lord of the Sith knows no kindness or mercy – only wrath and malice.”

Padme grits her teeth.

“He was kind to me.”

Obi-Wan looks at her, his gaze piercing.

“Then perhaps there was a little of Anakin left, somewhere deep down inside Vader,” he acknowledges. “Your mother believed so. I do not know whether to hope that she was right, or if such a circumstance would be more terrible than if Anakin was completely gone.”

“Are we safe?” Owen interrupts, his voice impatient. Obi-Wan nods.

“I believe so.” His gaze returns to Padme. “Your father had one last request, as he died. He asked me to make accompany you to whichever destination you thought best. Given Vader’s final actions, I feel I must honour his request.”

“But surely you’ll stay here, with us?” says Luke, as though it’s obvious.

It’s hard for Padme to tell him that she’s already made up her mind to go.

“Luke, I’m not a desert person,” she tells him gently, trying to ease the sting of what must feel like rejection. “I don’t belong here.”

“But–”

Padme shakes her head.

“I want to go to Alderaan,” she says. “It’s more like what I’m used to – and I have family there, too. But I’ll try and come back to see you sometime, and if you ever leave Tatooine, you’re welcome to visit.”

Luke looks devastated. It’s that which makes Padme hug him, as she’s seen people do in holos. Luke hugs back immediately. It feels like being engulfed in friendly warmth. Padme instantly understands why hugging is such a popular gesture.

“I’ll miss you,” says Luke, and Padme realises with surprise that he means it.

“I”ll try to send you messages,” she promises. “That way we can keep in touch.”

Luke nods solemnly.

Obi-Wan puts a hand on Padme’s shoulder. The gesture is so like yet unlike the times that Lord Vader did the same thing that Padme feels tears start to her eyes, all over again. She blinks them away.

“Come,” says Obi-Wan, his voice kind.

Padme follows him out to the speeder parked outside.

* * *

Two weeks later, she wakes suddenly in the night, convinced she is being watched.

It’s been a difficult two weeks. The Queen and her Consort have accepted Padme as their ward, at Obi-Wan’s urging. Since they arrived on Alderaan, the Jedi Master has been involving himself in the efforts to rebuild the Republic in the ashes of the Empire, even as Imperials of high status make attempts to grab control of the galaxy and declare themselves the new Emperor. So far, none of the Imperials have managed it successfully, and the pro-Republic faction seem to be gaining ground with every day that passes. 

Padme has been doing her best to keep to herself. During the day she has sessions with Leia and her tutors, and that has been… an experience, to say the least. The Princess is loud and opinionated, and while Padme is hardly quiet and retiring herself, no one in her life has ever encouraged her to do as Leia does and speak her mind. But then, Leia was not raised in an environment where it was dangerous to ask questions, and as a future leader she is expected to be bold, and her views are expected to be heard.

They’ve clashed a few times, Padme and Leia – their upbringings and resulting worldviews are simply too different. While Padme can see how Leia’s upbringing has shaped her views, Leia has more difficulty understanding Padme’s.

But Leia tries to be kind, even though she doesn’t always understand, sparing Padme the acid tongue she applies to everyone else. Padme is fairly certain that Leia pities her, for having been in the care of Lord Vader. Padme does not know how to tell her that Lord Vader was the only one who ever treated her like a person, before she met the rest of her family.

At night Padme sleeps in the room next to Leia’s. It’s decorated in cool blues and greens, and the windows look out onto green terraced gardens filled with flowers.

It’s on one such night that Padme wakes up with the feeling that she is being watched. She goes from fast asleep, to alert and vigilant in a matter of moments. She looks around, trying to work out why she feels that she is being observed, and freezes.

There is a transparent blue spirit standing by her bed.

The spirit looks like a young man only a few years older than Leia, with wavy hair which falls to his shoulders and a look to his face that puts Padme in mind of the feathered, flying predators that flock in Alderaan’s gardens. But the presence around him is strong, and although it is not nearly as dark and angry as Padme remembers, it is nonetheless unmistakeable.

“ _Father?_ ” Padme’s knuckles turn white where they grasp the edge of the blankets.

Lord Vader’s spirit – young, uninjured, even handsome – smiles. 

“Hello, child,” he says, and even his voice is different, the mechanical baritone replaced with something lighter, more nuanced.

“Father,” says Padme, and she realises that she’s smiling so hard her face hurts.

** END **


End file.
